


a day's colors

by mukaismom



Category: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Blood, Gen, nothing graphic though, sain being a dumbass, sain-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 18:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13886502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mukaismom/pseuds/mukaismom
Summary: Sain doesn't remember his first battle. Head trauma does that to you.





	a day's colors

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this real quick back for elibeweek! i love sain and he doesn't have enough content so i wrote this even tho it ended up being ridiculously short and cliche. whoops. ily sain

Sain’s first battle ended with a blow to the head.

He doesn’t remember that, of course, or what happened before or right after, but the morning…The morning, he knows.

There was a red dawn which set the trees in unfamiliar light. Kent told Sain to pin his tent down further–he never did get the pegs in far enough, and a storm was coming. He did so, then, while he was drinking his mead on the log outside his tent, he looked too closely at the sun. Sain spent the next few minutes shaking spots from his vision.

Kent laughed at him before he scolded this time. It was nice to hear. And Brent, an ex-sailor with graying hair and crow’s feet, slapped him on the back as if it’d help. “Get it together, kid,” he said. “You should know better than t’look at the sun.”

He did, in fact, but he’d rarely seen a sun like this, which he told Brent. The sailor laughed at him. “After you feel what’s comin’, you’ll never wanna see it again.”

He had sat next to Sain on the log, which was rotting and covered in thick, dark moss that stuck to his pants when he stood up. It made for nice padding, though, and felt nice underneath his hands.

From the log, he could hear the river they used to bathe in. In fact, he’s not so sure now if it even counts as a river. More of a large creek, actually, barely enough to get your calves wet. He liked that creek-river. He used to race one of the other recruits–-what was his name? Joseph? Jack?–-while doing laundry. Sain usually won, mostly because he skimped on Kent’s clothes.

And then he heard from that soggy, rotting log a shout from the creek, a sharp whoosh, and a thunk. Kent yelled for him, grabbed his sleeve, pulled him away and all Sain caught behind him was Brent’s body, fallen against the fabric of his tent with an arrow in his chest before the sky erupted and everything became red. Soil, arrows, river. A flood of red, red boots and hands and rain. Wading through it. Then, he was out.

And, when he awoke, there was red armor propped against unmarred canvas. His shivering shoulders, yelling likely his own, hands grasping his, tightly. Red hair, red eyes, and a voice, low and weary.

“It’s done, Sain. It’s over.”

And suddenly, red felt safe.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at lesbian-florina for blazing sword talks anytime


End file.
